My family has quite a collection of funny vacation stories. However, most of our stories revolve around another family we used to vacation with. One man in particular. For the sake of this blog post I will refer to him as Mr. S.
Before my dad went back to school and received his degree, he was a logger. He and my mom made a lot of interesting friends during that time. Mr. S, a fellow logger and his wife became my parent’s best friends. They were a successful couple who enjoyed traveling with us. Mr. S was a man who would give you the shirt off his back but carried with him very little shame. His practical jokes often times went just a touch too far. He was the type of person who would needle you for information and then happily use it to his advantage. By the time I was in elementary school, he had so much dirt on my parents from when they were young that he would constantly threaten to tell me the stories. It was all in good fun and my parents, if given the chance would retaliate. But, it’s like I stated before, he had no shame.
We took a long vacation with them traveling through British Columbia. We camped out in R.V.s for about a week. Mr. S had been living on a diet of potato salad and baked beans for most of the trip. One afternoon, we decided to go out for ice cream. The weather was stifling and we were all looking forward to something cold to eat. We found this tiny remote ice cream shop called Cone Heads. We pull in and apparently Mr. S had been passing gas the entire way there. Fortunately for us, we had driven separately.
Mrs. S was already annoyed with him when we all entered the shop. The owner of the shop was a middle-aged man and he served us our ice cream. Mr. S is the last to order. My brother goes to take a bite of his ice cream, when suddenly we are engulfed by a heat wave of the most noxious stench I have ever smelled.
My brother in all his innocence looks up in horror and says. “Mom, what’s that smell?”
We all look up to see Mr. S, proudly ordering his ice cream while smiling. The smell only grows worse, in the stifling heat the entire shop is filled with a horrific stench and the poor owner, without making a face, keeps on preparing the ice cream.
My mom hustles us all out of the shop. My dad and Mrs. S follow us. We’re all gagging by the time we make it to the picnic tables. My mom starts laughing while my Dad and Mrs. S are in a state of shock. After the gagging subsides, we all start joining in on the laughter. It was disgusting and wrong on so many levels but we couldn’t contain ourselves.
Minutes pass and still Mr. S has not left the shop. We all go up to the doors and peer in. There he is, having a big long conversation with the owner, a goofy grin on his face, eating his ice cream while basking in his own scent. The owner is somehow managing to remain calm and politely nods his head. All of a sudden he turns his head to the side and sees us all standing there. He gives us an evil look. As much as we felt his plight, we all died laughing. Right there in front of the shop!
Mr. S finally leaves and proudly walks to his truck, feeling not the least amount of shame or remorse. That night around the campfire, my mom attempts to hide the potato salad. Mrs. S refuses to give him any more baked beans but somehow he manages to find them again. The following afternoon, we’re in a convenient store behind a large shelf looking at souvenirs when a horrendous wave of stench assails us.
My dad purses his lips angrily and calls out, “Mr. S!”
From behind the shelf all we hear is his cackling laughter.
He has never managed to live down that vacation. It has been almost twenty years since that incident and we still talk about it. As an adult, I can’t imagine what that poor ice cream shop owner was thinking. That level of disgust doesn’t come around often. Mr. S immortalized himself into our family history that day. That story has been told all over town, at family reunions and over Christmas break. We rarely ever talk about vacations without bringing up that story. To this day, he holds no regrets.
